


Prom

by lunarlychallenged



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/M, Prom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 13:33:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15558819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarlychallenged/pseuds/lunarlychallenged
Summary: You had sort of hoped to turn a friend date with Finch into a real date, but getting ready for the Prom made it clear that it would be more difficult than you thought.





	Prom

It was a terrible idea for Katherine to have the entire gang over at her house to get ready for Prom. You all knew it. You could see the realization of her mistake dawning as she welcomed in each body.

It wasn’t the size of her house that caused the problems. Her house was huge.

It wasn’t the people she invited. Your friends had spent so much time there already, and they could be trusted in her home.

It was the timing.

The number of boys outnumbered the girls by a comical amount, and it took very little time for the boys to get ready. She had invited them over at the same time she had asked the girls to come, so they horsed around while the rest of you tried to get ready.

Katherine had asked you to go with her to a hair stylist, and the two of you left with hair fit for queens. Yours was braided elaborately, pinned up just so, and was so much lovelier than anything you had ever experienced.

“Makeup before the dress,” Katherine advised. It seemed like she had everything planned perfectly. She made you wear a button up shirt so you wouldn’t have to worry about messing up hair and makeup. She got snacks that wouldn’t make a mess.

She got Finch to ask you to go with him as a friend.

Sure, you had hoped he would ask you as a date. Maybe he would have, if he had been given more time. With Katherine, timing was an art form. She told Jack when to ask her. She watched Finch to see if he would ask, and when he didn’t take the risk by a few weeks before the dance, she pushed him into it.

“Hey, David-Son-of-Jesse,” she had teased at the lunch table. “Got a date to the dance yet?”

He had been tapping his fingers against the table in a crescendo of rhythm, but he paused when he heard the question. “No,” he said. “I haven’t asked anybody.”

“Are you planning on it?”

His face was tight with suspicion, eyes darting between Katherine’s face and the horror on yours. “I dunno.”

“Awesome,” she chirped. “Y/N doesn’t have a date. You should take her.”

Everybody at the table had turned to look at you, a mosaic of amusement, pity, and surprise. You plastered on a broad grin, but you were blistering with rage. You would rather have no date than a pity one. “Kath, stop terrorizing Finch. Let him go stag if he wants to.”

“It’s fine,” Finch mumbled. He cleared his throat. “No, that’s fine. We were going to be going together anyway, right? We’ll just be posing together for pictures and stuff.”

“Great,” you grated. Your smile looked false, no doubt, but it was the most you could give.

You had imagined Finch taking you to Prom. You had imagined him seeing you at your best, and you pictured the way he would melt. You imagined him dancing with you, unable to keep his hands off of you. You had imagined his eyes lingering on you all evening, bewildered and pleased and lost.

Getting ready for the Prom hurt, since you knew it was leading up to him not wanting to meet your eyes. It would be uncomfortable pictures, obligatory dances, and relief when it was time to part ways. 

“I want to eat something,” you said.

“Makeup,” Katherine said.

“My mortal form grows weak.”

Jack poked his head into the bathroom. He had been shouting as loud as any of the other boys, having some sort of NERF battle or game of tag. You couldn’t tell, but it was loud. “Let her eat. She’s earned it.”

You looked to Katherine, hopeful. “Please? Please, please, please.”

“We’ll be eating in an hour and a half,” she said. Even as she protested, you could see her softening.

“Food,” you moaned.

“Fine,” she huffed. “Jack, can you get one of the guys to bring stuff up? Chips and drinks, or something. Y/N can eat while she does her eyes.”

You grinned at Jack. “You’re my hero.”

“That depends on which guy brings you stuff,” he said dryly.

You were careful while you applied eyeliner. This was not a day for uneven wings or clumpy mascara. You wanted to impress yourself, if nobody else.

“I come baring sustenance,” Elmer said. He was carrying bowls of chips and cups of juice, biting his lip as he balanced them. 

In the mirror, you saw some of the guys run past the doorway. Finch, holding a small rubber ball, grinned when he saw Elmer in the bathroom. Your eyes widened as Elmer leaned over to set down a bowl, Finch pulled back his throwing arm, and one of Elmer’s cups leaned precariously over your head.

“Really slowly,” Elmer continued, “but I’m still baring -”

Finch’s ammo nailed Elmer in the back of the neck. He dropped one of the bowls in surprise, and the cup tipped. The juice spilled directly onto your head, soaking into your hair and pouring over your face.

Silence fell in the room. Elmer’s eyes were the size of saucers. Katherine’s jaw dropped. You took a deep, spluttering breath.

Finch’s arm was still outstretched, like the ball had only just left his hand. His face was slack with horror. “Oh, no.”

 

 

Katherine had screamed. Jack had slapped Finch upside the head. Elmer had looked near tears. You just sat on the edge of the toilet, dripping into the tub and onto the floor. Your clothes were freezing, but you hardly noticed.

Your hair was ruined.

You would have to take it out of the updo so you could wash it, and there was no time to ask a professional to fix it. You rubbed a few fingers over your eyes to wipe away the juice, but otherwise stayed perfectly still.

“Y/N,” Finch said in a low voice. “I am so sorry. I am so sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I am such an idiot -”

“You think?” Katherine was snarling, lovely teeth bared in a vicious smile. “We don’t have enough time to redo this. Jesus, Finch.”

“I can try,” he said. He was wringing his fingers frantically, gaze darting over to Jack. “I can do braids and stuff. If you’ll help me find something online, I know I can do it -”

“Okay,” you said.

Every face turned to look at you.

“It’s not like we have any other options,” you said. You stood and grabbed some tissues to wipe yourself off. “I’ll wash my hair. Help Finch pick a new style. I’ll be out soon.”

You ushered everybody out of the room, slammed the door in the faces of all of your horrified friends, and gave a quiet, choking sob. You tried to hold in the urge to cry while you washed your hair. It wouldn’t do any good, and it would only make Finch feel worse.

 

 

You were moved to a chair in the basement so Finch would have room to work without the eyes of his friends distracting him. You realized, eyes glued to his fidgeting hands, that he was terrified. Terrified of you, of Katherine, of the mistake he made. Even as something ugly and miserable flipped in your stomach, you managed to give him a convincingly encouraging smile.

“Take your time,” you said lightly. “The schedule is already off, so there’s no rush.”

He gave a brief, humorless laugh. “Yeah, I wrecked just about everything.”

“Not everything,” you said. “The chips survived.”

“Thank goodness,” he sighed. “That could have been awful.”

“It would have ruined the night.” The more you talked, the better you felt. It was Finch, you told yourself. Finch was your friend. He taught you to shoot a slingshot, and later a bow and arrow. He could play the knife game better than anybody else. He gave the best massages in the universe, and you were the only person he gave them to regularly. This was Finch, running his hands through your hair before sectioning it off. 

You had never seen him do hair, but it wasn’t a surprise that he could. His hands were a tool, and what he did with them was an art form. Why wouldn’t he be able to braid hair?

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to enjoy the way his nimble fingers twisted strands of hair. “You don’t have to take me, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“To the dance. I know Katherine made it impossible to say no. I’m giving you an out,” you said.

The journey of his hands stopped. “No, I’ll take you.”

When you opened your eyes again, you wished you could see his face. You wanted to know what he was thinking, what emotions he was feeling. “You sure?”

“Of course. You’re my number one, Y/N. Why wouldn’t I want to spend the night with you?” His hands started up again, but not before he fondly ran a finger around the curve of your ear. “This’ll be fun, if you don’t kill me for wrecking your head.”

 

 

When Finch’s hands stopped, you turned to look at him. “Well?”

He frowned. “It isn’t the same.”

“I figured that,” you scoffed. You heart was in ruins. You had wanted to look your best for him, and that wasn’t possible anymore. This was as good as it would ever get tonight, so you could only pray that he liked whatever he had done. “But how is it?”

When he didn’t answer, you pulled out your phone to open the camera. When you looked at your reflection, you didn’t know what to feel. It was not the same as it had been, but it wasn’t bad either. It was clearly done by a person who didn’t know how to do the style, but Finch had pulled it together so it was passable.

Not Prom good, but far better than hair dripping and sticky with juice.

“Perfect,” you said. You smiled at him, hoping he would relax, but it had the opposite effect.

Finch dropped into the chair on the other side of the table and buried his hands in his hair, releasing a heavy sigh. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said gently. You had been so, so angry. It was hard to be upset with him now, after he tried to fix his mistake to the best of his ability. He had tried. What more could you ask for?

“No, I do have to worry about it.” He was a statue of agony, with his hands holding his head in a bruising grip and his eyes focused on his lap. “I was trying to make this perfect for you. This was supposed to be a special night, but I wrecked it. I know how important Prom night is for girls - I know how much effort you put into looking right. I got in the way, and I am so sorry.”

“You didn’t have to make this special for me. You already agreed to be my date.”

“That’s the problem,” he snapped, looking up at you again. “I didn’t ask you in time, so that killed any chance of being your date-date. I thought I could fix it by - I don’t know, being really great tonight. I practiced slow dancing with Specs, and everything.”

You grinned. “Really?”

“But then I did this,” he said miserably. “This is the worst way to start a date that I can possibly imagine.”

“I dunno,” you said. You felt like you could float away. Every ounce of anger and disappointment was gone, leaving nothing but Finch, and that part of you that wanted to kiss him. “You could have wrecked the dress. My hair is whatever.”

“It was awesome. You looked awesome. You always do, but I killed the vibe -”

“I made the vibe for you, dummy,” you said. He gaped at you, too surprised to look happy or sad or anything at all. “I thought that I had ruined the chance for a date-date by not asking you myself, so I wanted to look great to impress you. Like, to make you think that this might not be so bad after all.”

“I never thought it was going to be bad.”

“I wanted it to be great,” you said. You could see a cautious hope growing in his eyes. “I wanted it to be the date that makes you want to date me.”

“I already wanted that,” he scoffed. “I just needed the perfect promposal -”

“And Katherine stole your thunder,” you finished.

He nodded. “So, we both wanted it to be a real date?”

“Seems like it.”

“And now we both know.”

You nodded, smile blooming. “As long as we’re on the same page -”

“Let’s date,” he concluded. He beamed, then looked down at his clothes. “Oh, I have to get dressed! And - and the corsage is in the car, and I should go to an ATM to get more money for the restaurant.”

“Finch, you don’t have to -”

He pressed a quick, hard kiss into your forehead. “You look gorgeous. Be back in a bit.”

He darted out of the room, leaving you bewildered and excited. You weren’t in your dress. You hadn’t redone your makeup. Your hair was a little rough. All the same, Finch thought you looked nice, so the night was off to a good start.


End file.
